


Made It Rain

by xenokattz



Series: 34 [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenokattz/pseuds/xenokattz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See, there was this woman...</p><p>But yeah, Clint couldn't use that excuse 'cause there was always a woman. Tash said they were his kryptonite, that he was like a dog who'd turn up his softest bits to whoever offered him a belly rub and, well, Tash <i>was</i> a superspy for a reason. Not that Clint's lower brain required decades of training to unravel.</p><p>Still, there was this woman...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made It Rain

See, there was this woman...

But yeah, Clint couldn't use that excuse 'cause there was always a woman. Tash said they were his kryptonite, that he was like a dog who'd turn up his softest bits to whoever offered him a belly rub and, well, Tash _was_ a superspy for a reason. Not that Clint's lower brain required decades of training to unravel.

Still, there was this woman...

* * *

Cliché dictated that she wouldn't be like any other woman but clichés were for fairytales and fairytales were for children. Natasha always said that. (See above re: Superspy). So she was exactly like every woman in that she had the requisite amount of hair, breasts, legs, arms, eyes, and all that. Wore the same clothes, walked the same way, drank the same drinks. But every time she laughed-- and she laughed a lot-- Clint's vision went kind of blurry around the edges and he felt two armies of butterflies wage war in his stomach. There were little butterfly missiles and probably a generous portion of butterfly semi-automatic rifles; insects meant business. That's why the Bible chose them for plagues. Shit, nothing in his world made sense any more.

* * *

Okay, so there was this woman named Darcy. She arrived with Jane Foster, the scientist in the centre of most of Thor's epic ballads. "Epic" in both the literary and vernacular sense because Thor was a royally educated golden retriever who could throw down thirty-minute couplets without signs of tapping out. He finally returned to New York with Jane, and with Jane went Darcy, and Clint wouldn't have even noticed her if it wasn't for Science Lab Hula contests which... was a thing?

"Contrary to what they believe, their bodies are made up of more than equations," Darcy explained in response to Clint's jaw-drop. "Hula increases circulation. Blood circulating around their brains increases productivity. Productivity increases forward movement in the whole privatization of world peace thing that Tony Stark seems to need so his head stops exploding."

"I resemble that remark!" Tony called out in the middle of failing at three hoops.

"Is this for real?" asked Clint.

"Unfortunately so," said Foster. She had two hoops around her waist, one around her neck, and a calculator in hand.

"Why aren't you hula-ing?" he asked Darcy.

"I'm the DJ," she said.

"She's mean," said Bruce. He wasn't smiling so Clint guessed he was joking.

He held out his hand to her. "Come on. Even the DJ has to hula."

Both her eyebrows rose. " _You_ can hula?"

"Nah. But how hard can it be? You just need thrusting power." He waggled his eyebrows.

"That is where you're wrong, grasshopper. But your arms are ridonculously awesome so I'll take that excuse to feel them up."

* * *

Darcy didn't visit often. She wasn't Jane's intern any more, technically. Oh, she helped around the lab once in a while. She had a frightening number of take-out places within a mile on speed dial and took pleasure in trying to put her order in before JARVIS could (current score had JARVIS in the lead by a slim margin). She was a grad student in Georgetown, specializing in Foreign Services and Global Human Development. Clint had to look that all up to understand half of what it meant. From a practical point of view, it seemed to mean giving Foster a hard time about working for Stark Industries and making her sign a bunch of forms promising not to give Stark sole use of her research. That, and drinking a lot of Red Bull.

"Try this." He switched out her fifth can of energy drink for a cup of tea.

"Bluhhh," said Darcy.

"Exactly. Natasha drinks that when she needs to prep for a long term mission."

"Funny, it doesn't smell like liquefied souls."

"I added mint," Clint drawled.

"You have hidden depths, Legolas." Darcy sipped the tea.

* * *

Sex was easy. (See above: Clint = dog with belly rubs). Sex with Darcy wasn't only easy, it was hellaciously amazing. The two of them in bed together ran the spectrum of need-to-sleep-but-beer-is-too-far to soul-altering-head-explosion. At least for Clint. He hadn't gotten around to asking Darcy. He wanted to. He rolled over in bed to start the conversation nine times in the last month alone, but every time, Darcy would either kiss his cheek and go to sleep or, worse, pull her clothes back on to go back to work. He was okay with that, at first. Everyone went through head-explosion sex at least once with every lover (at least everyone who did sex and relationships right). 

But sometimes when he didn't need to talk, they'd make breakfast together or marathon Dog Cops. Once, they split a six-pack while he spread his gear on the floor for a thorough cleaning and she took up the rest of the floor with her research, and they barely talked to each other but Clint felt so _happy_ just having her there that for a whole minute, he could only stare at the half-torqued shaft on his sonic arrowhead, not knowing what to do with his life and his choices and--

* * *

He came home from a mission with his apartment smelling completely clean. He called Kate's emergency number.

"Turn your issues back off. Maybe Stark punked you and hired a maid," she said after calling him a dinosaur, hanging up, and calling again this time using video.

"Darcy knows not to let anyone in without me vetting them."

"Um, Darcy's been in Paris for, like, three months now."

What? "What?!" Clint said.

"She got a research term at SciencesPo. Even I know that's a big deal."

"I knew she was going, but that's not until the end of summ-- Fuck! It's October. _Fuck!_ "

Kate looked at him like a stray dog looked at an empty food container.

* * *

So Clint could write a trilogy on failing at relationships for being a self-centered asshole. And he still had no idea what to do now. But he had the keys to a decommissioned Quinjet, so that was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Continued in "Break Your Own Heart," #3 in the "34" series.


End file.
